Love Triangle
by 16-horses
Summary: Joly and Laigle meet Musichetta for the first time. Their lives will never be the same. (As in, Joly has forgotten to be a hypochondriac and Laigle is finally getting lucky - or is he?) Original title: Three-Way Love.


A balmy summer sky swung above Paris as Laigle sauntered up the steps leading to the front door of the small house he shared with his best friend, Joly. When he swung the door open, a thick, cloying odor blasted out from the interior and almost knocked him off his feet. Holding his coattail over his nose, he edged inside and tried to wave the smell out the door. "Good heavens, what is that stink!?"

Joly looked up from the table where he sat. He cocked condescending eyebrows at his friend. "That stink is this life-saving concoction," he said in a nasal voice and raised a small green bottle for Laigle's inspection.

Laigle took off his coat and coughed as he kicked the door shut and hung up his coat. "That's an awfully powerful smell from such a small bottle. What is it?"

"It's for my head cold. Clears out your sinuses." Joly took a deep whiff of the contents of the bottle. Tears came to his eyes. Muttering to himself, he wiped his eyes with an already soaked handkerchief.

Laigle deposited his books on the table and hurried to light the gas lamps. "Why are you just sitting here in the dark? And why on earth haven't you suffocated yet?"

Joly made to argue, but instead rocked the house with a rafter-shaking sneeze.

"I guess you're really sick this time," Laigle said. "I didn't remember seeing you at classes."

"Of course not!" Joly sounded shocked. "In my condition? I could have started an epidemic!"

"Sorry."

"I might not be able to attend the meeting," Joly went on. "What do social reforms matter if I'm about to die?"

"Joly, the meeting's scheduled five days from now. You'll be better by then." Laigle knew better than to try and reassure Joly that his condition did not threaten his life.

"Ha. A lot you know."

"Well, you sit there and die then, while I get my notes in order." Laigle scooped up his books, dropped half of them again, chased after fluttering sheets of paper, and somehow managed to get them and himself out of the room. Joly watched him with intent eyes. The moment he vanished, Joly stood and blew out the lamps. He crouched back in the dark, airless room.

Sneezes shook the darkness.

* * *

The next day, contrary to Joly's beliefs, his head cold cleared up and he debated the wisdom of taking a walk in his convalescent condition. "And it's not just that. I'm certain I'm allergic to pollen."

"But it's summer," Laigle said.

"Flowers still make pollen, don't they?"

In the end, though, Joly decided to go, for once against what he called his 'better judgment'. Laigle shooed him out the door before he could start on the virtues of fresh air.

"He'll never be a doctor," Joly muttered, swinging his cane and kicking at the ground. "Good health has a much more delicate balance than he realizes."

He walked on, turning his head away from men smoking cigarettes, breathing in the medicinal stink of an apothecary's shop, and casting a scrutinizing eye over the great stone elephant at the Place De La Bastille. He veered away from any trees and flowers, even more so after he sneezed again. "Oh, woe. I knew I wasn't well enough to venture out." He anxiously checked his reflection in a fountain to see if he could see a rash developing.

The outline of another reflection rippled near. Joly looked up to see a young lady next to him, also peering at his reflection as though sharing a joke. She in turn looked at him, curly dark hair framing thick-lashed green eyes and delicate features. She smiled at his dazed expression, and dimples appeared in her cheeks.

Joly remembered nothing after that. He could only recall the girl floating upward as the sky turned upside-down, and the cobblestones of the street suddenly looked very near. Then it all went black.

When Joly came to, he found himself lying on his own bed in his own house, with Laigle leaning over him holding a wet cloth to his head. Joly closed his eyes and pressed his head into his pillow. "Don't tell me. I've got a concussion."

"Nothing of the sort. You've just got a bad bump." Laigle slapped him with the wet cloth, and Joly sat up indignantly. "What happened?"

"The hospital informed me you were there. Apparently some girl brought you in after you fainted."

"How does the hospital know where I live?"

"Joly, every hospital in Paris knows where you live."

"Oh." Joly reached up and felt his head. "Was I bleeding?"

"No."

"So…" Laigle slapped the cloth down on Joly's nightstand and pushed an empty medicine glass aside. "What made you faint in the first place?"

"I don't know. Probably shortness of breath. I could be getting a nervous attack."

"Would it have anything to do with the girl?"

At the word _girl_ Joly felt his heartbeat quicken twofold and he really became short of breath. "Oh, the girl. Uh, er, I don't know. I'm sure it was just a dizzy spell. I told you I wasn't really strong enough to be walking out and about."

"Indeed."

Joly gazed at the blanket draped over his body for a minute or so more, then threw it off and jumped out of bed. "I feel fine. Let me up!"

"You feel what?" Laigle stared at him, eyes huge with astonishment.

"I feel… I feel…" and Joly floated out of bed and out of the room.

Laigle's gaze glued itself to the doorway. "He's in love. Poor boy."

* * *

Joly found himself haunting the fountain in the Place De La Bastille for the thirtieth time that week. He sat down on the edge and glanced at his reflection several times, but alas, no delicate, heavenly face joined his in the water. He looked to the brilliant blue sky. It seemed to mock his pain. He sighed; let his eyes droop. How could he think he would see her again? What would she see in him, except an awkward, fainting boy? He let loose with a luxurious sob, turned his face once more to the heavens, overbalanced, and fell backward into the fountain.

Joly yelped and sat up, coughing and spitting out water. His hair plastered itself to his head, mostly over his eyes. He looked wildly around for his hat, remembered that he had forgotten to put on a hat on before leaving the house, and then realized he had also forgotten to put on his shoes. He didn't remember to get out of the fountain either. He screwed up his face and for a moment felt happy that the vision of loveliness did not witness his scene of watery humiliation.

A stifled giggle pulled him out of his soggy thoughts. He jumped to his feet, sloshing water and almost falling over again, to see the girl of last week, in a dress of spring green, a parasol leaning on her arm, trying not to giggle at the sight of him, soaked through and through, standing in a fountain with his hair stuck to his face. For one awful moment he thought he would faint again, but he lurched forward and gripped the edge of the fountain. His face, neck, and ears glowing red, he climbed out and faced her, fearing she would melt away into mist.

But she stepped forward and drew his wet hair away from his face with tiny white hands. She did not fail to miss his bare feet, but the smile she bestowed on him made the sky burst forth into sunlight and rainbows. Any thoughts of pneumonia or chills fluttered away, and he felt wings grow on his soul.

"You made quite a splash there, sir," she said. Joly cursed himself mentally. Of course she saw. Girls always saw.

"My name's Musichetta," she went on, twirling her parasol. "What's yours?"

 _What's yours?_ What did that mean? When he tried to speak, only a strangled groan came out, but he seized his voice at last and croaked, "I'm Joly."

"Well, Joly, it's good to meet you."

He nodded with a stupid grin pasted on his face. Speak, you idiot!

"Where do you live?"

Where did he live? Didn't he live with someone? Who?

The summer sun smiled down on Paris, showering light on a sparkling fountain, a sylph of a girl, and a very soggy young man.

* * *

"…and we're going to the Luxembourg park tomorrow," Joly chirped, waving his fork around and flinging bits of potato and onion everywhere.

Laigle wiped a bit of Joly's dinner off his sleeve. "Indeed you are. That's only the twelfth time you've told me that."

"She's like an angel. I never feel better than when I'm around her. You've got to meet her."

"Try inviting her over."

"I will. Oh, Laigle, you can't imagine the change she's made in my life."

"Oh, I've noticed." Laigle put down his utensils and counted items off his fingers. "You haven't made a complaint of ill health for days, your grades have hit rock bottom, and you haven't attended the last three meetings of the Friends of the ABC."

"I think I used to care about all that." Joly rested his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand. Laigle winced at the starry-eyed look on his face. "I'm almost scared at this change in you, Joly. I don't even recognize you anymore."

Joly didn't hear. Nor did he care.

* * *

"I must say, you are rather more relaxing to spend time with," Musichetta said, sitting by Laigle on a park bench under a white-blossomed tree. Some time before Joly had disappeared somewhere, picking flowers. "But of course Joly has his charms. Life has become so much more enjoyable since I met you two."

Laigle glowed. Bald on top at twenty-five, constantly ripping his clothes on things, always losing money and borrowing it back from friends, for once his luck changed for the better.

"I've always admired university men." Musichetta paused to run a finger along the smooth wood of the bench. "I could never remember all those facts and long words…"

"Somehow I can't seem to remember any now," Laigle said. "The only word that comes to mind is your name."

She laughed a tiny, bubbling laugh.

Joly bounded over, pollen flying around the bouquet he held, but he made no mention of allergies. He flourished – brandished, more like – the flowers in front of Musichetta, who took them and closed her eyes to their scent. Joly glided over to sit on her other side and said in a dreamy voice, "Do you love cafés?"

"Café!" Laigle yelled and flew to his feet. "Today's the meeting! Joly, we're late!"

"Late for what? What meeting?" Musichetta asked.

Laigle and Joly exchanged glances. "We never told you?" Joly squeaked.

"Told me what?"

Laigle cleared his throat. "We and our student friends are reforming to plot the government. I mean, plotting to plan the – no, we and the government are reforming the café to plan, er, that's not it, that is –"

"We're plotting to reform the government," Joly said very loudly.

"SHHH!" Laigle hissed. "When we're in public, keep a little quieter about 'reforming the government'."

"Sorry."

"Reforming the government?" Musichetta's eyes grew enormous in her little white face.

Laigle squeezed his eyes shut. Of course his luck would not last forever. It never did. Things couldn't go on this way, so good he couldn't believe it. Things never worked out for him. Goodbye Musichetta, goodbye free country, goodbye happiness.

"Great!" Wreaths of smiles bloomed on her face. She stood, smoothing out her skirts. "In that case, you'd better hurry to your meeting. I'll be waiting outside for you when you're done. Where is this café exactly?"

Laigle and Joly looked at each other again. Then they both cracked and collapsed against each other, dying of laughter. Other park-goers cast strange glances at them as their hysterical laughter lurched crazily around the park.

Musichetta blinked. "What's so funny?"

"Meeting," Joly wheezed. "We were going to a meeting, and you didn't dump us."

Laigle let loose with another shriek of laughter and they began all over again.

Musichetta looked uncertain. "I think I missed something."

"What!?" Laigle snapped out of his fit in an instant and straightened, knocking Joly down. "Joly! The meeting! We're late!"

"Oh! Right!" Joly sprang up, and the two friends took off, flashing through the park, a curly-haired girl waving after them.


End file.
